


Brain Thrust Mastery

by SubwayWolf



Series: Two at a Time [2]
Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Come Eating, Creampie, Doggy Style, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fluffy kisses, Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, Leather Handcuffs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Object Penetration, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgy, Platonic Kissing, Sex Daze, Social Media, Spitroasting, Spreader Bars, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrators, ass eating, rim jobs, well-fucked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other half of the season-long, biweekly NFL porn collection, this one devoted entirely to the New England Patriots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spoken For

**Author's Note:**

> Since I figured at least half of my weekly updates are going to be about various New England Patriots, I'm segregating them into their own fic. Have a kink or pairing suggestion (New England or any other team)? Tell me about it at [my tumblr](http://subwaywolf.tumblr.com/ask) or my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/subwaywolfy) and I'll write it for ya!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _As far as weakness goes, this one's hard to beat_ ; _I know, I know, I should really feed this thing_ ; _Wait and see_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus starts my hypersexualization of New England Patriot football players. Sorry. Just a forewarning: I'll be channeling a lot of my deeply personal feelings for Tom Brady through these things. 
> 
> Which leads me to say, I love that man to death and am seriously worried that the way I portray him in these fics is going to seem negative - it isn't! What is it, tbh, is a shitload of long-term fantasy fulfillment. I give this man all the thanks in the damn world for helping me come to terms with my sexuality at a young age. Thanks, Tom.

Julian Edelman sat in his Mercedes C63, alone in the empty parking lot. He fumed with a newfound anger. Being forced out of his position as starting slot receiver was bad enough, worse of it all was that he was backed out by Danny Amendola.

Danny was a god now. He was a the definition of clutch and had saved the team more times than anyone could count. Julian’s efforts, although substantial, weren’t enough and had forced him out of the slot. Danny had catch after catch after fucking catch and Julian couldn’t stand it. The humble grin on Danny’s face made Julian sick to his stomach. With every passing second, he hated Danny more.

There was a single light on in the multi-story, and Julian parked furthest away from it. It wasn’t a long drive home from Gillette Stadium, since Julian lived nearby, but he was in no mood to drive. He wasn’t in the mood to do much of anything. 

He hadn’t even eaten since Saturday morning and was beginning to feel stomach pains. It was Sunday night now, maybe even Monday morning at this hour, and hunger was getting the best of him. He felt dizzy with starvation and regret and anger.

Julian couldn’t stand it. Right out of the slot position, with no warning! Was it his age? Couldn’t be…but what else could be the explanation? The statistics spoke it to him clearly: Danny was the youngest to catch successive fourth-quarter comebacks, youngest to run the quickest routes on the team, youngest starting receiver on the New England roster. And what was Julian? A thirty-something Californian who hadn’t stayed healthy since 2009. 

Danny Amendola. Danny fucking Danny. Julian could see nothing but that pompous grin every time he closed his eyes. Julian’s stomach hurt, but he wasn’t sure if it were from the anger or the hunger.

As Julian sulked in painful self-loathing, he noticed a glint in his wing mirror. As he squinted, he saw they were headlights, and they were growing larger. He wasn’t alone in the car park.

A white Infiniti FX pulled up in the spot next to Julian’s Mercedes. Julian knew who it was. He didn’t have to look, so he stared at his hands, which were on his lap.

The hum of a window rolling down pitted Julian’s stomach. The muffled voice eagerly calling his name confirmed Julian’s suspicions. It was Danny. Danny fucking Danny.

Julian got up the nerve to roll down his window and encounter Danny for the first time in weeks. 

“Hey!” Danny cooed affectionately, smiling down at him. “What are you doing here this late at night?”

Julian couldn’t bother replying so he just shrugged, doing himself a favor and not looking at the goofy grin that was unquestionably on the receiver’s face. 

Unfortunately for Julian, Danny didn’t seem to take the hint. “Come on out, Jules, I have some drinks in the back and you can have as much as you want.”

Edelman was drawn to the nickname he was given: Jules. He blushed, staring even more intently at his hands. He was so annoyed at this friendly nickname that he forgot to answer the question.

Danny didn’t give up. “I think you need a drink, you look pissed. You don’t have to tell me why, just join me.” Danny got out of his car. “Come on,” he urged calmly, shutting the door behind him.

Julian couldn’t escape this. He couldn’t escape him. If Danny couldn’t take a hint, Julian had no choice other than to get it over with.

As Julian got out of his Mercedes, Danny clapped his hands in a bouncy joy. Julian would admit that he could use a drink quite badly, but he wanted to continue the tradition of keeping silent. He shut up in hope that Danny would get bored and cut this extemporaneous outing short.

Danny opened the trunk and sat inside, bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them. “Bit grumpy tonight, Jules?”

That nickname again. Julian sighed softly and sat beside Danny, still refusing to look at the perky Receiver. He begrudgingly found himself wondering if Danny was even old enough to drink. Jules side-eyed the doe-eyed little prick, clenching his jaw.

“Oh,” mumbled Danny, “the drinks, right.” Julian heard Danny shuffle around. “I have plenty.”

Edelman snuck a glance behind him. What he saw was alarming. Lined up neatly in the backseat were at least fifteen huge bottles of champagne, the same bottles Offense Player of the Week winners receive at the end of a competitive week. And Danny Amendola had fifteen of them. A fiery pit of anger flushed Julian’s cheeks red and sunk his stomach. He closed his eyes and turned around, calming himself.

“Do you want champagne, or champagne?” Danny joked, following up with a brief laugh. 

This only made it worse for the flame of Julian’s internal conflict. When handed the glass of bubbly, Edelman threw his head back and downed it all at once. As he swallowed, hot tears rose in his eyes as a repercussion. He tilted his empty glass in Danny’s direction, requesting more.

“Man! You sure are in a bit of a shitty mood, huh?” Danny refilled the glass. “What is it? Is it something you can tell me about, or is it private?”

Julian gave himself an excuse not to reply by sipping slowly on his refilled glass.

“Is it…about your girlfriend?”

Julian said nothing.

“Is it about family?”

No answer.

Danny pursued. “Money problems? Depression? Anger? Confusion? Impending apocalypse?” Danny paused for a breath and a drink. “I’m spit-balling here. You can add input whenever you want.”

Julian wasn’t going to add input. He fought back more stomach pains, blinking slowly. Danny scooted forward so he sat next to Julian, his legs dangling off the end of the car just as Julian’s were.

Danny didn’t give up guessing. “Did… your pet die? Are you injured? Did you murder someone? Is someone plotting your murder? Are you in debt? Are you the last of your race? Did you…uh…find out the date the world's going to end? Really, Julian, you can chime in at any time.” Another pause to drink. “Okay, where was I? Eh…oh, are you adopted? Were you cheated on? Oh! Have you gone deaf and mute? That would explain a lot!”

Julian took a sharp, angry breath. “Damn, Danny. All those tries and you haven’t managed to hit the nail on the head.”

“He speaks!” Danny exclaimed. “Well as I said, I was just spitball-”

“What is the one thing we have in common?” Julian turned to look at Danny.

Danny furrowed his brow. “Is there…a problem with your beard?”

Julian gritted his teeth. “No!” he practically growled. “What’s the other thing we have in common?”

“Er… our occupation?”

“Yes! Yes, our occupation. There it is. Now you know. Now let me drink in peace. Please.”

That earned Julian a well-deserved silence…briefly.

Danny was as persistent as ever. “Well, if we have it in common, you can tell me, right? Is it…the car? Erm, Goodell? Something with Coach B? Is New England dropping you? Is it Brady? Oh, it’s Brady, isn’t it! You two always have had some friction between you, I’ve always thought-”

“It isn’t Brady!” Julian stared at his again empty champagne glass, clutching it with both hands so tightly he thought it might shatter. “It’s you. If you’re so fucking curious about it, it’s you. Not Tom. Not Coach B. Not New England. You.”

When Danny wasn’t quick to reply, Julian glanced to his right to make eye contact with him once he gained the courage to do so. Danny had a look of shock on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth slightly opened, his lips turned into a half-frown. “But…” he choked out, “Why?”

“You want to know why?” Julian asked. He asked this to kill time, because he hadn’t prepared for a speech. 

Danny closed his mouth, frowning fully now, looking at Julian nervously. “Yeah, I want to know why.”

“Ah, fuck off, Danny. You know why. Don’t play stupid.” It felt good to get rid of this anger. “It’s because you’re fucking perfect, man. You’re… you’re the god of the team, everyone’s favorite, everyone fucking loves you. I haven’t been able to stay healthy in three years, just three, and yet everyone’s found a way to forget I exist. It’s all because of you, because you’re young and handsome and perfect, as if you haven’t made a mistake in your whole life, career, whatever.”

Julian’s voice bounced off the walls, echoing through the empty car park. There was more silence. Julian snatched the bottle of champagne from behind him and refilled his own glass. 

Nothing was said, until Danny broke the ice again, and in the worst possible way. “So you’re a bad sport, then?”

Julian’s cheeks flushed. “Bad sport? Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’ve got the nerve to say that?” Julian paused and let his voice ring through the empty, darkened multi-story. He took a breath. “Even if it’s true, that’s only half the problem. The other half is your fucking attitude. Your stupid laugh and pompous arrogance and that fucking smile you put on. Nothing irritates me more than that smile because it just screams, ‘I’m better than you’, and ‘you’re below me’, and ‘you’re a worthless piece of shit, Julian…’”

Julian’s voice broke as he was nearing tears, but he kept himself together. He stared at Danny, and flushed even redder when he saw there were tears welled up in Danny’s eyes as well. Julian felt slightly guilty but he didn’t even consider apologizing.

Danny stuttered, “I-…I didn’t mean that.” Danny’s voice was weak from hurt feelings. 

“Bullshit you didn’t,” hissed Julian. “Why else would you act like an asshole?”

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, “I didn’t mean for you to feel that way.”

Julian chuckled. “You’re sorry. Like that’s going to help any.”

“What will help, then?” Danny seemed oddly desperate. His voiced was laced with frustration.

Julian felt little remorse towards the smaller man’s efforts. “Nothing. Nothing will help. You asked what was wrong and I told you, that should be enough.” Julian glared at Danny for the thousandth time of the evening. “Any effort you make won’t be enough. Don’t bother with me.”

“But,” Danny never gave up, “I don’t want you to think like that of me. I never did this on purpose, I swear, I have no reason to hurt you. It makes me feel guilty that I did something very bad but I didn’t even know it was bad. And it makes me feel angry that you never told me that before.”

“Yeah, go cry about it.”

There was a long period of silence after that. Julian used this time to calm himself down and shift into deep thought mode. It felt great to get this off his chest, as if a forest fire in his head had finally been contained and put out. It was a massive relief, and even if it hurt Danny, it took a load off of Julian’s back.

Danny, Julian thought, wasn’t going to give up that easily and was likely preparing more attempts at wining Julian over. Julian ended up correct in his prediction.

“You know what? You are acting like a little boy right now,” Danny accused through a twisted face. “A little boy who got his favorite toy car stolen. Do you hear yourself? Making me feel bad because you’re not as good? That isn’t fair or kind. Just childish.” 

Although Danny was right, Julian didn’t acknowledge any of his words. Instead, he hunched over and scowled, refusing to look the other man in the face. His glass was almost empty again and he pretended not to notice. “Don’t talk,” Julian heard himself say through a sigh.

Danny was taken aback. “Don’t talk?” he repeated dumbly. “Is this a joke? It’s not funny! Because you’re being a jerk right now!” Danny was not the best at throwing out insults, and he knew it. “You are the worst-” he hesitated, then stammered out, “-shit… out of anyone I know!”

Julian reached over and placed his hand over Danny’s mouth. His palm pressed against Danny’s lips. “I said,” he sighed again, “Don’t talk.” He was so sick of hearing that cheery voice, that dumb accent. He was sick of looking at his face but he did not avert his eyes.

Surprisingly, Danny did nothing but bring a hand up to Julian’s wrist and grip it lightly. Edelman was ready to stand his ground but Danny did not seem intent upon removing the hand from his face. 

They sat there, staring into each other’s eyes, in a silence which Julian was quickly growing tired of. Each man waited for the other to make a move, to writhe away, to apologize, to speak, anything. But nothing happened, and Julian was not sure for how long it went on. 

Danny parted his lips. Julian could feel them moving beneath his skin, and before he knew it, Danny had grabbed Julian’s hand and put the first finger into his mouth. Julian was too shocked to flinch, pull away, or speak. Danny run his tongue down to the base of the finger, and then back up, sucking gently.

It slowly became difficult to resist. Julian allowed another of his fingers to be taken into Danny’s mouth. He shuddered as Danny’s eyes locked to his, unfaltering and uncharacteristically dim. Julian’s stomach ached, and soon, his cock began to ache, too. The wet pressure on his fingers was too much to handle. His lips parted and he let out an almost-silent gasp.

Julian was not sure how long this game would go on, or what the game was about, or how it was played. He only knew that he was losing. Again.


	2. Altered Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _You allow my life regrets to pass for rhetoric_ ; _It's not so much the words you say, it's how you use your lips._ ; _You know, I know you think you're saying what I want to hear, but I'm smart enough to recognize a bad idea_ ; _Your intentions are transparent, am I making myself clear?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyway, uh... turns out, real life is a thing and I'm fighting through it right now and haven't updated regularly, which, honestly, I should have warned you about at like, week one, but here I am now making excuses like an asshole instead!
> 
> So I've gotten a lot of requests for Julian/Tom which means I'll probably do multiple chapters with those beautiful boys. I'm filling out requests chronologically and I've decided that putting a limit on it is pointless so just keep them coming! Since we'll no doubt make it to the postseason I don't have to be limited by seventeen weeks. Even if you don't like the Patriots or if you want to see a Pats player with someone from a different team, let me know and I'll write it into my other fic instead!
> 
> Here's some Jules/Tom stuff which goes out to the two anons who happened to want that and the lovely Tigra ([tumblr](http://tigrasevaddict.tumblr.com/) / [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigragrece/pseuds/tigragrece)) who has great taste in NFL players, hockey players, AND Formula One drivers and also happens to be an excellent writer! Thanks for your request! ;)
> 
> *drinks straight vodka* Here's to our boys getting healthy again! Hopefully... very soon...

No clouds. Dry air. Damp grass. Meteorologists would say these are signs of a cold front.

Julian Edelman sulked around his back garden drowsily, hugging his red silk bathrobe to himself and trying to enjoy the morning, but it was no use. The night before was a fuzzy combination of far too much alcohol and the strikingly perfect color of Tom Brady’s eyes. The rest was a hazy fuzz in Julian’s memory but he could guess what had occurred.

Tom had left long before Julian woke up. This made Julian feel sick to his stomach, for weird emotional reasons which he had never experienced before. His mind jumped to wild conclusions like it always did, always making an effort to frighten and anger him, frustrating him constantly. 

Julian had thought sulking around his garden for a bit would get his mind off of everything but he was wrong. Being away from the mess Tom had left just made Julian want to see it once more. And being alone again made him miss Tom more than ever. He really, _really_ hated being alone.

Julian dragged his feet in the grass as he walked back inside. He returned, now with a headache, to the mess Tom had left – the tangled sheets and wet marks and some things the two had knocked over during the course of the night. 

He stood alone amongst the mess, and hugged his silk robe closer to his body. His whole body hurt, from his head to his ass. As he focused hard on the pain, it got worse, up to the point where he wished he could forget about it but he could not; the pain wouldn’t go away. 

The soreness between his legs began to burn so badly that Julian could no longer stand, so he sat on his bed. When he shifted in his seat in an attempt to cool the flames, they returned even stronger. A whine escaped his throat as he rolled over to his stomach, burying his face in the tousled sheets. 

As he tried unsuccessfully to ignore the physical pain, emotional pain arose as well. It was the familiar feeling of loneliness, which hit him rather often, but not as hard as it was hitting him now. Still face-down, Julian put his hands on his head and clutched handfuls of his hair. 

His stomach flipped inside of him, and it was then he realized he couldn’t really breathe with his face down, so he turned his head and inhaled, exhaled, caught a glimpse of Tom’s undergarments on the floor, groaned again.

* * *

Under the series of lamp’s golden glow, a poignant Porsche 911 shone proudly in Julian’s garage, its round headlamps peering up at the world with curiosity. Beside it was a flamboyantly prominent Ferrari 458, a blinding glint ricocheting off its polished, silver bumper as one walked past.

But manage to look away from the German supercar and the Italian beauty, and there sits miserable Volkswagen City Golf. This car was only sold in Canada, and not for long. It was discontinued the same year it was built but it belonged to Julian’s parents and somehow got passed on to him. The sight of it, in its dull shade of brown, was so ugly it arose an urge to look away, but at the same time its uniqueness and contradiction to the surrounding vehicles deserved a stare, along with a laugh.

Tom Brady, alcohol swarming through his system, had totally lost the façade of cool he tried so hard to keep up. All trace of a mental-to-verbal filter eroded away, had input. He simply shrugged, saying, “That is a piece of shit,” as he looked it over.

Julian had been drinking as well, but even with a sober sense of justification, he liked the Volkswagen – its simplicity and circus-type charm appealed to him in strange ways. He was quick to defend the car, but unfortunately he was too drunk make a comeback, so he settled with, “Shut up, Tom.”

Tom tossed his head back, drinking more of the liquor that was held loosely in his hand. He looked down again at the car, then at Julian, who was now sitting on the car’s bonnet, his legs spread slightly. 

“That car is so ugly,” Tom said with a blank expression, “It makes you look handsome.”

Julian said, “Handsome? I’m flattered.” 

Tom wasn’t biting; silence followed. Julian scooted further backwards onto the bonnet of his car so his back pressed against the windshield. He eyed Tom carefully, watching as the larger man stared at the once again empty glass in his hand, seeming confused as if it had never been empty before. 

“More?” Julian suggested. He had plenty stashed away for times of need.

Tom shrugged, and his attention was almost immediately occupied with Julian’s Rolls Royce, or one of them at least. Julian was too preoccupied to note which one, because soon he too finished the rest of his alcohol and instantly forgot where it had gone. He stared at his glass dumbly.

From across the garage, Tom spoke. “Do you have a hammer somewhere in here?”

He sure did. Though Julian was not as well versed as his father in the ways of home repair and mechanic skills, he had a tool set of his own on the far wall of the garage. “Yeah, on the wall over there,” he replied, gesturing to the collection with his empty glass. “What do you need a hammer for?”

Tom returned, holding a mid-sized hammer with a sturdy, metal handle. Rather than replying, he placed it on the hood of Julian’s Volkswagen and averted his gaze, expressionless. “Do you have lubricant?”

Julian froze, blushing. “I do.”

* * *

A headache pierced the sides of Julian’s head. He’d managed to drag himself out of his bed and pick up Tom’s underwear from the ground. He held the shorts in his hands and rubbed the soft, white fabric between his fingers. He couldn’t tell what he was feeling, but he knew he didn’t like it. 

He drowsily sat back on his bed and placed the boxers beside him. He sat and stared at his bare feet, waiting patiently for his headache to subside, showed no sign of doing so. 

Julian felt the need to do what he always did at the time of a hangover: drink more. He really did hate to drink but, like his father, found it difficult to stop once started. Thankfully, Julian was still horribly sore, for many reasons, and couldn’t bring himself to get up.

He was blinded at the reoccurring memory of Tom’s eyes: their alert appearance but devout sternness, the fortitude of an army man hidden beneath the watchfulness of a wolf. And their color: the hazy, green-brown hue which Julian adored. It reminded him of California’s sky in the winter.

The lust and admiration he held for Tom’s eyes was just another feeling added to the mess of emotions Julian had already been feeling. Seriously, a teammate? His quarterback, at that? Julian was frankly unsure why he was torturing himself like this.

To top it all off, a wave of nausea flushed through his insides, and he could taste the sick waiting to regurgitate itself up and out of his throat. The flavor wasn’t pleasant, but neither was the situation he was in. 

Julian laid back on his bed, beside Tom’s underwear, and cussed to himself, staring up at the dull, spinning ceiling.

* * *

“I dunno about this…” Julian frowned as his Jeans were being tugged off. 

Tom said nothing as he tossed the pants to the cold floor of Julian’s garage.

Helplessly, Julian watched as Brady coated the handle of the hammer with the greasy sexual lubricant, squeezed out of a tube which had previously been unopened. Julian had been saving the lube for a special occasion, that of which hadn’t occurred since the day he got it – well, found it under his parent’s bed and stashed for himself, more aptly – five years ago.

Strangely, the fear that lube had an expiration date was the only thing going through Julian’s drunk mind as Tom took his camouflage-colored briefs off, leaving Julian half-naked and uncomfortable. Julian’s eyes widened as Tom cupped a hand around his exposes testicles, holding him at his mercy. The light grip of Tom’s greasy hands around his balls automatically made Julian start to stiffen up. He might have been drunk, but his body knew damn well that he hadn’t received attention down there for quite a while.

Tom made eye contact. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, finally speaking. 

Left with no other options, Julian mindlessly obliged. He was too nervous to meet eyes with Tom, and he also was distracted by the lube-coated hammer which was gripped tightly in the guy’s free hand. He flinched, uncomfortable with his ass on the cold metal of the Volkswagen and the pulsating length between his legs. He blinked, and his eyes met Tom’s.

A shiver went through Julian as words slid out of Brady’s mouth in a deep, smooth tone, “Relax, Edelman.”

And Julian did; he closed his eyes and relaxed. But he soon tensed up again after opening one eye and watching the hammer move towards his ass. Fortunately, Tom was holding it by its head. Unfortunately, it was far too late to protest.

When the handle of the hammer penetrated Julian, his eyes squeezed shut again. Coated with lube, it slid deep into him and rammed against his prostate, sending a wave of pain through his body. When Julian opened his eyes in alarm, he found them blurry with a flood of tears. He also realized he was gripping, with both hands, Tom’s shoulders. He figured he was probably hurting him by digging his nails into Tom’s broad shoulders. Julian _couldn’t_ care. His body was hyperfocused on the fiery foreign object wedging deep inside of him. Even being drunk didn’t make this any easier.

Nevertheless, this excited Julian and he felt a familiar tingling sensation in his pelvis and, despite the pain, was blissfully near blowing his load after only one thrust. It the handle was firm and full inside of him, causing an indescribable kind of pain-and-pleasure. His prostate was being pressed incessantly, and his whole body tensed up, especially his hole, now red and stretched around the handle. He clenched his jaw, tight, as more tears leaked out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He wanted to cry out but could hardly even breathe.

Julian tried hard to contain himself, in fear of frightening Tom, but the added pleasure of the burning hammer being twisted inside of him combined with the feel of Tom’s strong hands fondling his testicles – it was too much. Slowly, Julian began to leak pre-cum, but to his relief, Tom lowered onto one knee, dipped his head, and licked it off.

Julian was grateful for this, and for everything. It had been so long.

* * *

Julian rested his head miserably on the cool seat of his toilet. Dry heaving had gotten him nowhere. Moving caused him pain so he just knelt on the floor, his whole body aching, and at this point he genuinely considered shoving two fingers down his throat and forcing himself to puke.

Suddenly, his doorbell rang. This was the worst time for company. 

Figuring it was a solicitor or the newspaper, didn’t move from his spot on the dirty, cold, bathroom floor. But the bell rang again and the sound of it echoed through his empty house, bouncing off its clean walls and worsening his blinding headache. That was then followed by an incessant, repeated stab of the culprit’s finger on the bell, which meant it must have been Gronk, who was in town for a banquet, and of course just had to stop by and say hi.

Julian managed to get himself up from off the floor. His stomach overturned within him as he walked to his front door, opening it wearily, to find, as suspected, Rob Gronkowski.

Gronk was dressed casually. He looked awake and very cute, his smile almost annoyingly positive and bright. His hair was in an usual untidy mess, but apart from the bedhead Gronk was happily awake. He greeted Julian with that smile and cheerful, “Good morning, Julian!” 

But Gronk’s grin quickly became nonexistent as he observed the state Julian was in. His immediate reaction was to say, with genuine concern, “Are you okay, man? You don’t look too hot.” He said this with hint of curiosity in his concern.

Julian didn’t answer him and simply stepped out of the way, silently allowing Gronk inside his home. He wasn’t sure why he let Gronk into his house. He could hardly stand upright, and he still baffled at how he ceased to cry thus far. 

Julian’s lack of a reply concerned Gronk further. After entering the house and shutting the door behind him, Gronk stared up at Julian, waiting politely for him to say something.

Julian chose to ignore the question and instead ask one of his own. “What brings you here?” he managed to croak out, trying to make his suffering as less obvious to Gronk as possible.

Gronkowski was disappointed that he didn’t get a proper response out, but answered the question nonetheless. “We have a joint interview on a news station downtown, remember?” he asked matter-of-factly. “I came to drive you.” 

Clearly Julian was in no mood for interviews, and he wasn’t in much of a mood for Rob Gronkowski, either. But football called upon him and, as if his bloodline compelled him, he was required to respond. 

Julian let out a sigh, a soft one so Gronk wouldn’t notice. He hoped to himself that this would go well, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t. “Alright. I’ll have to get ready, then.” 

“You’d better! You look and smell horrible!” Only Gronk could make something like that sound so cheerful.

He was probably right. The foul aftertaste was rancid on Julian’s tongue and he suspected his breath not to smell too great either. He was still wearing pajamas and was desperate for a shave. “Then I guess you’ll be here a while.”

That eased a bit of a chuckle out of Gronk. Julian was proud of himself for his addition of humor, no matter how weak. He progressed to his bedroom but left his door open a sliver in case Gronk felt the need to communicate. Mercilessly, he did.

“I was hoping the station we’re doing the interview for would be a fun one, like they would make us do trivia or a game or something. But I guess you don’t have fun shows like that here. Daytime TV is so much better in Boston.” Gronkowski kicked his feet around, his sneakers squeaking on the polished times of Julian’s floor. “We’re gonna have to pick up Brady on our way out, by the way.”

Julian cringed. There was that name again. _Brady_. Gronk spoke the word with such ease but Julian found it difficult to hear. He somberly dressed himself in something nicer. The sick feeling returned. Gronk continued to speak but Julian wasn’t listening. He lugged himself into the bathroom so he could fix to his tousled hair and disgusting breath.

As soon as Julian put his toothbrush into his mouth, he noticed in his peripheral vision that Gronk had let himself into the bedroom. A wave of panic overtook Julian, but he soon realized with relief that the evidence scattered around the floor was rather light. Gronk was likely not to notice.

Also, the guy was preoccupied with Julian’s cat. The cat had always been particularly fond of him, particularly his cologne, but Gronk himself was always an animal lover and it was plainly obvious. When the cat leapt onto Julian’s bed for attention, Gronk gently stroked the pet down the length of her back and under the scruff of her neck. She turned her tail up, purring in response.

But Gronk, mercilessly, averted his gaze to the floor and examined the mess that was scattered erratically around Julian’s room. “Julian…” he began curiously, fixing his eyes to something he’d seen. Julian immediately tensed up, knowing this wasn’t going to be good. “Why are Tom’s underwear on your bed?” 

And there it was. Julian’s heart sunk. He was slightly alarmed by the question but he’d expected it. He spit the foamy toothpaste out of his mouth, then snatched a handful of water from the tap and rinsed his mouth out. But even after the stalling, Gronk still wanted an answer. Julian found it pointless to lie and stupid to tell the truth, so in the end he said nothing.

It seemed as if Gronk expected there to be no answer, because he elaborated. “What, Tom came over here, dropped off his underwear, and then left? Huh?” Gronk sat down on Julian’s bed and the cat leapt off in alarm. “Are you gonna keep silent or are you going to tell me, man?”

Julian’s immediate reaction was to remain quiet. But he soon had a thought, and he found it necessary to vocalize it. He turned around so he could speak to Gronk. “Honestly, I’m just curious how you know those belong to Tom.” He stood in the doorway to his bathroom and glared in suspicion, pursing his lips slightly.

Gronk broke into a grin. “Oh, nice try! But they say ‘T. Brady’ along the tag!” Julian’s plan had failed. He swallowed hard. Gronk’s smile faded. “Julian… what is it you aren’t telling me? I am your friend, right? I won’t overreact. I’m just curious.”

Julian’s throat tightened. “It’s hard to explain. It was just something stupid he and I did, and I’d really like to forget about it but I can’t.” Of all times, then came the waterworks. Fuck, why was it always so easy to cry? It was like Julian’s tears had no filter at all, they just came whenever they pleased. He tried to rid of them by pawing casually at his eyes, but they were worse than he’d thought and the tears wouldn’t go away. He felt like an idiot for tearing up, especially in front of Gronk. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it,” Gronk eased him softly, “I’ll respect that. No more questions. But if you do wanna talk about it, now or ever, I’m here. Okay?” 

Julian flinched, and his heart twisted. But instead of saying ‘thank you’, he said, “Okay.” 

That was lame of him, but as he looked to Gronk and saw those endearing, brown eyes glittering merrily back at him, he knew his feeble message had gotten through. “You’re a good guy, you know that?” He wanted to say this with a smile but he couldn’t manage one. He rubbed his wet eyes again. He figured this shitty hangover was making him even more sensitive than usual.

“Yes,” said Gronk, but then he caught himself. “I mean, I know. And you are too.” He blushed a little at his mistake and shuffled his feet in embarrassment. “Really, dude. I mean that.”

The two sat in a comforting, well-deserved silence as the peaceful moment was shared between the men.

“Hey, Jules?” cooed a smirking Gronk as he shuffled his feet again.

Julian took a breath in yet another attempt to calm himself. “What?” 

“Have you got a hammer?”


	3. Let's See It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know that evidence is gonna suggest that I will let you down_ ; _This might just buckle under all of the weight now that the pressure's on_ ; _All I can ask is that you muster the faith that I won't let you down_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay you goddamn freaks, see what you made me do? Here's two updates in two days because 1) I'm technically three weeks/chapters behind and 2) the Patriots won yesterday and I want to celebrate by writing porn and 3) you all are nasty sinners and my inbox is so full of sin that it might explode (but don't stop sending stuff tho. don't stop). 
> 
> (For the record? Obviously when I mean nasty I mean "I really enjoyed writing this because I'm dirty af" and when I call you guys freaks it's a term of endearment. I love you all so much. Your comments and suggestions make me SOOO happy in these trying times, I cant thank you enough for your sweet little comments and ideas. I read every single one and they all matter to me so much.)
> 
> Ohhhh boy. This update is the nastiest of all. I haven't been able to stop thinking about this prompt since I got it. Shout-out to the mastermind [tatiana1512](http://tatiana1512.tumblr.com/) who wanted "Jimmy Garoppolo getting a warm welcome to the team". You can see where this is going. I literally just had the Pats' roster open and was running down the list. Oh, man. I'm so unclean.
> 
> Forewarning. This might be the dirtiest thing I've ever written in my life. So here's a fuckin 52-player fic and some quarterback objectification. *Jumps into the shower* Go Patriots.

The team had sufficiently prepared Jimmy for this beforehand, both physically and psychologically. He’d heard rumors about the ritual way since he’d been drafted but formally he had been given a two-month advanced notice of the date it would occur. He had complete freedom to opt out whenever he wanted to – he didn’t want to. For the ten days prior, he’d been given plugs increasing in size if he wished to physically prepare himself for the event, and this opportunity he decided to take. The day of, he wore the largest plug throughout the whole day, until finally, when it all began, it was finally removed. 

They set him up on a bed with lots of pillows so he could be comfortable lying there face down for a long period of time. They let him position himself accordingly before they put the spreader bar in place. The straps around his ankles were padded and wouldn’t chafe, and once the bar was locked, his legs were spread and he couldn’t move. He was completely naked with his ass in the air, head turned and lying in the pile of many pillows. The last thing he remembered before it began was someone slicking him up with lube, pushing it deep inside his hole. Jimmy was already loose from wearing the plug and from his spread legs, but the person lubing him up used three entire fingers to spread him more, just to be sure.

And so it began. Players came to him for at least the next two hours – it was impossible to track time. One after another, they entered the room, fucked him senseless, spilled their seed in his ass, and left. Jimmy kept up with the first few players but after that he was in a complete daze. He knew he would enjoy this, but he’d never expected for it to feel this good. As it turned out, he was inexplicably _in love_ with being fucked non-stop. 

Jimmy whined and writhed through it all, groaning into the pillows, almost letting out sobs because of how eager he was to be fucked and filled up again and again and again. He took fistfuls of the sheets and sometimes bit the edge of the pillows, but he took them all, every single cock and every single load. As they lined up, pushed against his prostate, and dumped their loads inside, Jimmy was growing more and more insane with lust. Blood was rushing from his head to his cheeks and cock, and the haziness kept growing.

So much of it was utter bliss that he was panting and whining like a girl the whole way through. The most agonizing parts were when he wasn’t filled up. Those moments, sometimes dragging onto minutes, when he was alone and waiting in place for another dick to be put up his ass – it was agony. Without the heat of a human body behind him, without the sounds of breathing or sweet-talking, without more hot come spilling into his ass, his stomach sunk and he felt empty and cold. 

The other agonizing aspect about it was that the plugs he’d worn almost non-stop for the week before did more than just prepare his hole for the beating it was taking. The constant stimulation also made it harder for him to come – he needed more, and _more_ , and he kept _getting_ more but it wasn’t enough because nobody had the courtesy to touch him. Even so, the lack of attention at his own hard dick only turned him on further. 

Jimmy surprised himself with how easily he could tell who was behind him just by basic characteristics like tone of voice or what their footsteps sounded like. There were a few that he wasn’t completely sure of – he made it a game, never turning around to see the man’s face – but he was able to identify most of the people who came to fuck him. For being in his rookie year, he was impressed at how he could recognize them, even more so now that they were meeting him so intimately.

It almost made him laugh how everyone was so characteristically different in their actions. As easy as it was to have each person topping him blend together in a haze, he remembered details about each person who visited him that stuck out from the rest.

It seemed almost typical that the special teams men were the kindest. Ryan Allen was gentle with his movements and sweet-talked him all the way through, but Gostkowski was the sweetest of all, teasing Jimmy with some fingers before finally giving in to his whimpering.

The entire offensive line had cocks varying in size from short to long, but all of them were so thick that it felt like a soda can was being thrust inside of him every time they showed up. The defensive line was the same except they were grabbier with their hands and they fucked him so hard that he whined nonstop into the pillows which could hardly muffle his sounds of pleasure.

Where Chandler Jones was a dirty talker who kissed him on the neck as they fucked, Ninkovich was silent despite his grunts and left Jimmy feeling wrecked and spent. Jerod Mayo and Jamie Collins both had grips that were rough and strong and Jimmy was sure bruises would eventually form on his sides and ass. McCourty and Chung could roll their hips sweetly and expertly, pouring love into him in a way that put him into a dizzy daze. And Malcom Butler indulged Jimmy, fondling his balls as he pumped himself inside.

Gronk tried to be graceful but with his massive dick effectively rammed into Jimmy’s prostate with each thrust. Brandon Lafell was slow and sweet and took the longest, drawing out the pleasure for the both of them. And the runningbacks were all different as well. Blount was rough and fucked him deep and hard, White rammed him right into the bed sheets, and Bolden filled him up so snugly that Jimmy almost couldn’t breathe. 

All in all, Jimmy was fucked until his hair was rumpled and his cheeks were flushed and he was drooling all over the pillowcases. His ass and hips were red from being gripped and smacked around. His back entrance was a dripping white creampie, leaking seed out the bottom curved rim of his hole and travelling down his taint, some reaching and pooling near his balls, some dropping down and splattering on the bed sheets. He was so packed with come that his stomach felt full, and he had to clench his internal muscles to keep it all inside.

Most of the men came and went on their own, but there was only one pair that arrived simultaneously. Danny and Julian came in laughing at some joke Jules had made, though Julian was certainly trying to lighten the mood to the otherwise nervous Amendola. Julian had been on the team much longer than Danny and was used to this – Danny was more apprehensive. Julian climbed onto the bed, already shifting his slacks and briefs off his hips. He suggested Danny go to the front. 

Sleepy from being fucked so hard, Jimmy picked up his head from the pillows so he could hear them, but he was too dazed to keep up with what they were saying. He looked up to see Danny on his knees before him, pulling his hard dick out of his pants. He didn’t have to say a word for Jimmy to know what to do. Since his hands weren’t bound he could stroke Danny’s shaft and fondle him all he wanted, and he was grateful for the mental stimulation.

Jimmy sucked on Danny’s cock as Julian filled him up from behind, easing inwards and beginning his thrusts at an agonizingly even and steady pace. As Julian moved deeper and deeper, it became harder for Jimmy to hold back moans no matter how deep Danny’s cock was down his throat. Above him, Danny was panting and had a hand in Jimmy’s hair, and behind him, Jules kept at it, hands on Jimmy’s sides as he rolled his hips forward and back, grinding with passionate intensity.

Jimmy’s cheeks were warmed when Julian finished, balls-deep. Danny didn’t last much longer, pulling his dick out just in time so that Jimmy could stick out his tongue and receive the come on his lips and mouth, licking everything up.

“Welcome to the Patriots, kid,” Julian said with a casual tone of affection. He patted Jimmy on the ass as he packed himself up and got off the bed, disposing of the used condom in the small waste bin, piling his sleeve of rubber atop everyone else who’d elected to use one – though with how full of come Jimmy’s hole was, the number wasn’t very high.

Danny was still panting, pushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand as he picked up his briefs with the other. He looked down at Jimmy, who was licking the last of Danny’s come off his lips, and made a concerned face at him, not sure what to do or say. “Uh… thanks, I guess.” He then looked to Julian, who was already laughing.

Julian reached a hand out, and Danny placed his hand inside so he could be helped off the bed. “Chill out, Danny. If anything, he should be thanking _us_.” They left just as everyone else did. And still, Jimmy was so dazed from being full and wet that he couldn’t say a word, not like he would have argued.

By the time the last player made his way inside, Jimmy’s thighs were sticky and trembling. He could hear footsteps approaching, boots with some sort of heel – the only person he could think to wear those was be Tom Brady. Jimmy tried his best to shift his position and turn his head to catch a glimpse, and what he saw confirmed it: a tall and lean figure with dark hair and slim, long fingers reaching out towards him. Before he could turn back again he felt the hands on his hips and the mattress shift position as Tom climbed atop it and positioned himself.

It was the voice that was the cherry on top, though. “Hey, sweetheart,” Tom cooed as he found Jimmy’s hole and slipped two fingers in, urging them deep. The pressure caused even more come to spill out and pour down his taint. He moved his fingers then lined up the tip of his cock against the rim of Jimmy’s wide hole but did not press inside. “I see they’ve been filling you up nice and good.”

Jimmy’s lips were already parted and he wanted to answer, but suddenly he was filled up with hard cock again and only a deep sigh came out of his mouth in response. He closed his eyes and pictured how Tom looked behind him. Jimmy’s dick and balls were aching, and coming untouched would just bring him more discomfort, and he hoped Tom would find it in his heart not to let that happen.

His prayers were answered when Tom reached down and stroked Jimmy’s cock. Jimmy whined, pathetically loud, and shifted back to take Tom’s dick as deep as he could so it slid against his prostate. Tom leaned over so his hot breath was on Jimmy’s neck as he whispered, “Oh, you gorgeous thing. You’re so hot and slick. You’re taking it so well.” He trailed kisses from Jimmy’s shoulder and up the side of his neck, wet and teasing to bite, moving up towards his ear and exhaling through his nose, whispering. “Such a good boy…”

Cheeks flushed from the praise, Jimmy finally came, spilling out into Tom’s hand and down his knuckles, some of it on the blue bed sheets. His eyes rolled back and fluttered shut. He practically sobbed at the relief. He wanted to thank Tom for letting him come but could not speak amidst the bliss.

When Tom finally spent inside of him, it was hot and thick and so much come was flooding out when Tom removed himself from Jimmy’s red, overworked hole. Tom gave him an affectionate light pat on the ass before he left, and Jimmy was ready to pass out asleep by the time the assistant came in and unlocked the spreader bar. Jimmy fell asleep to the sensation of the assistant wiping the come out of his hole with wet wipes and tossing them into the garbage bin. He dozed in absolute, well-fucked bliss. This really was a warm welcome to the team.


	4. After Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This night is winding down but time means nothing_ / _As always at this hour, time means nothing_ / _Say that you'll stay_ / _We're all right where we're supposed to be_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! To celebrate the win today (WE'RE GOING TO THE AFC CHAMPIONSHIPS HECK YEAH), here's an update!! I don't think I can top the nastiness of the chapter before this, but that's probably a good thing.
> 
> This long-anticipated chapter is for my girl Kiray ([tumblr](http://kiray1991.tumblr.com/), [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiray/pseuds/Kiray)) who is awesome and hilarious and a sweetheart and also she's my favorite, so you all are beaten out, sorry. Since she's too far away from me for me to hug, I figured that this fic would be close enough. Love you lots babe!!!! <3

On the right face of the study was a huge mirror that took up the entire wall. Julian remembered absentmindedly reading in some home improvement magazine at the doctor’s office that mirrors made rooms look larger or something, but to Julian it just seemed distracting, especially when Tom Brady was in the room. 

Looking at Tom was like gazing upon some holy being, like a Greek god, especially when he grew his hair out or had his shirt unbuttoned just so. He was just so intimidatingly attractive, so looking away was sometimes the best remedy to an accelerated heart rate, but when a huge ass mirror took up half of the room, averting your eyes meant there was _another_ Tom Brady in the room too, who could be seen at a different angle, and looked just as good.

Jules was sitting slumped in an expensive-looking leather armchair facing Tom’s desk. He was sitting in it like a lazy teenager, sighing every once in a while to get Tom’s attention, but to no avail. Julian didn’t live very far away, and he came to Tom’s house every weekend at this exact time – Tom was very punctual and although it was nice for him to make time for Jules when he needed it, that courtesy went overlooked when Julian felt like he was being ignored. So Julian waited impatiently and stared around the room to kill time.

It wasn’t exactly clear what the purpose of this room was. The blinds were room-darkening, which probably meant he drew them to watch film and study game tapes, but right now they were open, letting in rays of natural light. On the wall opposite the mirror, there were two huge bookshelves, filled with classic novels Tom had probably read from college, some inspirational non-fiction bullshit, and an array of fiction, most of the titles Julian didn’t recognize, but a lot of them seemed like romance novels of some kind. Two of the shelves was cleared off of books and instead lined with various awards and trophies, made of glass or platinum or gold or plastic, all of them with small plaques reading TOM BRADY and whatever achievement he’d won and what year he’d won it in.

Tom was on his computer, his reading glasses perched on his nose as he typed away on the keyboard, responding to some email or another. He was wearing a white, button-down dress shirt and black slacks underneath a tan, double-breasted trench coat. It was fall, and he loved wearing scarves, but the blue-and-black plaid one he had been wearing was off his neck and piled on the desk he was sitting at. He’d obviously just gotten home and was so keen to getting to his computer as soon as possible that he hadn’t even taken the time to take off his jacket. This probably meant the email was some correspondence to Coach Belichick, or worse: something from the press. Either way, Tom appeared frustrated, and had yet to give Jules as much as a hello.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Julian’s foot was starting to itch underneath his bulky cast but he ignored it. He slumped further in his seat, hoping Tom would notice, but he didn’t even avert his eyes. Julian then ducked even further so his ass was off the edge of the chair and his body was almost parallel to the floor, and sighed heavily and as loud as he could.

Tom turned his eyes, finally, but it only lasted a second. “Sit up straight,” he said curtly. He only hesitated once more to push his thin-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, then continued typing on his keyboard, back into his business trance. He only needed to say it once, and Julian sat up in the chair again, rolling his eyes. 

They had been in a relationship for over two years now and were very clear about it never interfering with their work or the team. Regardless, their teammates found out about it some time ago, at varying degrees of alarm. Most people elected to ignore it, as it didn’t change much of anything. The few who disapproved kept quiet, smartly. Only close friends like Danny and Gronk were vocal about it, mostly teasing Julian about it until he blushed, but there was no harm in that. Their relationship never interfered with how they played, no matter that Julian liked to tell himself that Tom looked to him first in red zone situations.

The irony of it was that as of late it was work that was interfering with their relationship, not the other way around. At least that’s what Julian was telling himself. It felt better to phrase it that way. Tom took longer to reply to his texts, would sometimes quit on date night at the last minute in favor of studying tapes, and just generally seemed more distant and moody. And when Julian went down in a game just a few weeks prior, Tom only went through the normal formalities of checking up on him over text – he didn’t come to visit at the team doctor’s clinic and he didn’t even send a text after the MRI to see how it went.

Of course, Julian knew his place. Gisele knew about Julian and thoroughly approved of him and Tom, for she felt polyamory was natural so Tom could get his fix and always come back to the woman he loved at the end of the day, which he always did. Both Tom and Gisele went to great lengths to make Julian feel welcome and comfortable. Julian was more than okay with this, and he was contented with never being on the relationship tier that Gisele was, but this recent behavior was a little extreme. Over text, Gisele agreed to Julian’s claims that Tom was seeming a little off, which only worried Jules further. He decided to be direct about this.

Overall, Julian felt ignored. He felt like he wasn’t cared for and wasn’t important. He could easily be dreaming this up in his head, but it felt all too real.

Julian folded his arms. Tom’s typing was slowing down and he was now scrolling through something. It seemed like he was stalling. Julian didn’t plan his words well and said the first thing that came to mind, asking, “What’s your problem?”

Tom didn’t even glance away from his screen. He shook his head briefly. “I don’t have a problem,” he countered, and felt that it was okay to let the conversation end there. It wasn’t.

Julian looked down at the ground, not even feeling the energy to recite to Tom all of the things that were making him feel bad. “There’s really no way for me to put this without sounding pathetic, so I’m just going to go ahead and sound pathetic.” This, finally, got Tom to look away from his screen and directly at him. “I feel like you’re ignoring me, and it’s making me feel like shit.”

Tom took his glasses off and placed them on the desk. He looked puzzled but refused to look Julian in the eyes. “I’m not ignoring you, Julian,” he said calmly, but not confidently, as if he didn’t believe his own words.

As fiery and confrontational as he was on the field, Julian really hated fighting in daily life. An expression of frustrated sadness crossed his face, and Tom only glanced at him for half a second to notice and feel bad, too. “Is it because of the injury? Is that why you don’t want me here?” However unfeasible, it was the only thing that had changed and the only perceivable cause of this rift.

Tom shook his head briefly, looking down at his hands as they rested on his desk. “I _do_ want you here, Julian,” he said through a sigh. He only said Julian’s name in this tone when something was wrong, so something was clearly wrong.

If Tom was just going to shut down, Julian didn’t feel like he needed to press this any further. It was a very clear point that he was getting across and if Tom was going to ignore this too, that only made it clear that they were having a problem. He went to his last resort: pleading. “You can talk to me, you know. Underneath everything else, I’m your friend.” Julian kept his arms folded through all of this and tried his best to keep his eyes off of both Tom and the mirror to his right.

Tom finally gave up. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand as he leaned into his chair exasperatedly. It took a moment for him to assemble himself and get the right words out. “I’m just tired. It’s difficult going to practice every day and not seeing you, and games are worse. After Denver, the press is on my ass, Coach B is just as bad.” He realized this warranted an explanation. He put his hand down. “I understand that pushing you away when you get here is counter-productive, but it’s a force of habit. It’s easier than saying these words. I don’t know if that makes any sense.” 

Julian just stared at Tom for a long moment and then started to laugh. Tom reacted with a look of confusion. “Well, thank god,” Julian said when he calmed down, “I thought you wanted to break up with me or something.” 

Tom raised an eyebrow. “God, no. Are you serious?” Julian responded by laughing again, and Tom shook his head at himself. “No way. It’s not you. _I'm_ the emotionally incompetent one.” Julian allowed himself to laugh a little more, in relief. Tom finally smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s just stress.” Julian nodded to show that he understood. Tom genuinely and fully smiled now; he was grateful. He raised a hand and beckoned Julian towards him. “Come here.” 

The routine was familiar. Julian raised from his seat almost at once. He walked around the side of Tom’s desk as the quarterback wheeled his seat backwards and spread his legs, patting his knee to give Julian room to sit. Jules took a seat on Tom’s lap, and Tom immediately snaked one hand around Julian’s waist and rested another high up Julian’s thigh. 

Smirking, Julian brought his hands to the white collar of Tom’s shirt and unbuttoned the two topmost buttons with deft ease. “You really need to find healthier ways to deal with your emotions,” he said in earnest, though he was half-teasing.

Raising an eyebrow, Tom looked at him incredulously, allowing his shirt to be unbuttoned this little bit. “Are you my therapist now, too? You already do enough for me.” The hand on Julian’s waist snaked around a little further so he was holding him in an awkward half-hug.

Julian rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m serious. During the games and afterwards, you always put every mistake on your own shoulders. It’s too much.” Julian brought a hand to Tom’s hair and tucked it neatly behind his ear. His hair was getting longer now, as it usually did in the winter. Soon he’d be growing out a beard, too. Julian looked at Tom affectionately. “And don’t worry. I’ll be back on the field before you know it.”

Tom turned his lips in a pout. “I know,” he admitted sadly. He started smirking right afterwards. “That won’t stop me from missing you on third and goal, though.”

Unable to stop himself from grinning, Julian cocked his head slightly. “I thought you didn’t pick favorites.” He loved calling Tom out on this whenever he could.

The hand on Julian’s thigh moved up to his face, and Tom tilted his cheek so they were even with each other, getting closer by the second. “Well…” Tom whispered through a smile. “I lied.”

And after what seemed like ages, Tom met him in a kiss. It was easy for Julian to respond promptly and kiss him right back at the slow and gentle speed Tom liked so much. The heat of their mouths together and Tom’s hand caressing his face made Julian’s icy mood melt away. 

When Tom pulled back, his eyes were locked on Julian’s lips, and he kept his own just a breath away. “I’m sorry for making you feel bad. I want to make it up to you.” Tom spoke with a clear and asserting voice. He wanted Julian to feel better, it was perfectly clear.

Julian couldn’t help it but to smile at him. Tom seemed pleased as he watched Julian’s lips turn up in a small smirk. “Fuck me?” Julian asked, and his own smile suddenly became contagious, because a corner of Tom’s lips turned up to match him.

As much as Julian preferred things to happen naturally after a decent time of foreplay, sometimes things needed to happen quickly. Julian could feel Tom’s cock starting to fill up and press against Julian’s thighs where he was sitting on Tom’s lap. Julian would have loved to pull his pants down, straddle his man’s lap, and ride him like a cowboy, but it seemed like Tom was having other ideas. Tom always was the more imaginative of the two. 

He stayed seated on Tom’s lap for a while, shifting in position only slightly so they were closer, facing each other, Julian having to lean down slightly so their mouths could meet, slipping tongues in an intimate, warm mess. Tom moved the hand from Julian’s face down to his waist, and Julian had to reach down and move Tom’s hands so they were on his ass, where they remained as Julian arched his back, silently begging for Tom to grab him there. 

After moving his hands back to Julian’s waist, Tom urged him with a small push to get up on his feet, and Julian obliged after reluctantly pulling away from Tom’s lips. Julian stood there, still smirking, watching Tom, who scooted forward in the chair and took off his trench coat. Tom stood, pushing the wheeled desk chair back, and neatly folded his coat and draped it over the back of the seat. 

This required a level of patience which exceeded Julian’s normal limit, but he managed to stay quiet. When Tom turned back to him, Julian wallowed in the moment where their eyes met and allowed himself to feel overawed. Tom towered over him, and his narrowed blue eyes seemed to pierce right through his heart – as sappy as that sounded, it was how he made him feel. Tom was half a foot taller than him so Julian had to literally get up on his toes to meet Tom in another wet, impassioned kiss. 

As they kissed, Tom moved them backwards until Julian’s back was against the mirrored wall. Julian had both hands on Tom’s face, keeping him close and pulling him down, and at the moment he was more excited to be making out with his lover than the impending sex they were sure to have to follow. He barely noticed that he was pinned against the mirror, but he liked it that way, so he didn’t mind.

And he was only mildly alarmed when Tom flipped him around so Julian’s face and hands were up against the mirror, smudging it with hand and fingerprints, and his ass was sticking out, nearly pressed against Tom’s pelvis. Tom put his hands on Julian’s hips and proceeded to unbutton his own slacks and pull down the zipper.

Julian only had to lift his head slightly to see their reflections in the mirror. As he undressed, Tom was looking down at Julian’s backside, lips parted, cheeks flustered. His eyelids were drooping, his long, light eyelashes shading his eyes as they looked over Julian’s body. His shirt was still unbuttoned, clearly showing his long neck, the linear definition of his clavicle, and the shadow where his pectoralis muscles just begun. Julian caught his breath and smiled at his lover, almost panting. “You look good, man,” he said affectionately.

Tom was caught off guard and made eye contact with Julian through the mirror. He returned the smile and found himself chuckling as well. “You do, too.” 

Julian winked. “And I’m not even naked yet.” He turned his attention to his own pants, where he brought one hand down to shift them off his hips. His injury gave him an excuse to wear sweatpants and boxers, so it was easy to tug them down. They fell down to his ankles, heaping awkwardly around the bulky boot of a cast on his foot.

Tom was already sucking on his own finger, getting it slick before positioning it. “Ready?” Tom asked, and Julian gave an affirming nod and relaxed, spreading his legs. Tom entered him with his finger, and the invasive touch was naturally startling, but it was nothing Julian couldn’t handle. After digging his way around and slickening the area up enough, Tom pulled his finger out and took his cock in hand instead.

Julian’s cock was already starting to rise to attention, but when Tom slipped the head of his dick into Julian’s hole, Jules went stiff almost at once. Tom pulled out after only entering him halfway, and then moved to enter again, thrusting even deeper this time. He put his hands on Julian’s hips and thrust inside a third time, slipping all the way inside. Julian forced breath out as he felt so full with Tom’s thick cock. He reached down and begun to relieve some of his own pressure, tugging lightly to make it last.

It had only been a dozen strokes before Julian felt warmth explode inside of him and Tom’s cock pull out. The sensation was familiar, but what confirmed it was when Julian shifted his hips and clenched up, feeling the warm, sticky thickness filling up his hole. Julian turned over his shoulder and furrowed his brow. “Did you just come inside me?”

They used condoms when they had sex, but today Julian just assumed Tom would start with intercourse and finish somewhere else. Julian reached around himself and pressed a finger to his hole and felt come leak out from the pressure. Julian wasn’t upset, just alarmed, and would have preferred a warning.

Tom was panting softly. It looked for a moment as if he were going to apologize, but instead he knelt down, used his hands to cup Julian’s thighs and spread his ass cheeks, and leaned forward. Julian could not see what was happening but when he felt Tom’s tongue lick around the rim of his asshole, realization washed over him at once.

As Tom slipped his tongue deeper into Julian’s hole and began to lap up the heavy white come inside, Julian’s eyes went wide. The come began leaking out and rolling down his taint towards his balls, and Tom came to attention quickly, lapping up the seed in stripes up the sensitive skin of Jules’ taint, then returning to the inside of Julian’s hole and massaging the wet internal muscles with expert flicks and swipes.

Julian let out an embarrassing gasp and could feel himself getting weaker. He was panting against the glass of the mirror and fogging it up. His eyes rolled back and he let them fall closed, managing to whimper out, “Ah, Tom, I’m gonna…” before bucking his hips and coming, spurting seed all over the mirror in front of him, exhaling and shuddering and opening his eyes to see the semen dripping down the mirror, dirtying the once-clear glass even more.

If this was the way Tom Brady showed people how much he missed them, Julian nearly hoped that his own injury would keep him out of the game for _longer_.


	5. Spoken For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _I wouldn't be caught dead with your kind and all the hot-shot carrying on that you do_ ; _It's your only move_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GG, everyone :') We'll get them next year. Right? Right!

Technically, the offseason just started a week ago. But for Danny, it had started quite a while back. Injuries were the bane of every professional sports players’ existence. There were a few weeks in the season where it seemed like the Panthers were going down one by one, and that there would be no one left by the time week seventeen rolled along. They managed to make it, though; Tom carried the team as he always did, and the playoffs happened, and then the AFC Championship Game... in which they lost.

There was no point in wishing there was something he could have done, or thinking that the outcome would have been different if he had been there, but Danny felt bad anyway. Even so, he almost figured that going to the Super Bowl and not being able to play because of injury would have felt even worse.

But the offseason was nice too. Honestly, Danny liked every single aspect of his job regardless of if they were winning or not, but one of the best things was the friends he met, friends that he was going to have for life regardless of time apart or distance or team transaction, friends whom he loved.

One of those friends was Julian Edelman. On the field, they had shared snaps and split the workload of scoring, and off the field they spent lots of time together. But that amount of time was nothing compared to now. They both suffered injuries and both had physical therapy appointments at the stadium scheduled at the same time. This was purposeful, of course. Sometimes emotional healing was just as important as physical healing.

It was close to the end of their healing process. A full recovery would take longer, mostly through a lot of exercising, heating, and icing, but right now the both of them had just a small fraction of the pain that they’d had at the beginning, and they had helped each other through it. Sometimes Chandler Jones was on a table by them, cracking jokes and telling crazy stories, or Gronk was there, showing them pictures on his phone or taking group selfies.

Today it was just Jules and Danny. There were better ways to spend Valentine’s Day than at a physical therapy appointment, but at least he was with a friend.

As soon as the physical therapists left the room, Jules was up and off of the big, padded examination chair and limping over to Danny’s, which was right next to his. Danny was about to scold him for getting up when he wasn’t supposed to, but it was no use.

Jules jumped up onto the seat, sitting with his feet off the edge and looking back at Danny, who was lying down in it properly. “You know, tomorrow is a very special day,” Jules said in a matter-of-fact voice.

Danny raised an eyebrow at him, grinning. “Uh. Today is Valentine’s Day, man. Not tomorrow.” He expected to see shock wash over Julian’s face, but no dice.

Julian shook his head. “No, not today. Tomorrow. Don’t you know? It’s the day all the candy goes on sale in the stores. Very important holiday.”

Danny laughed. He wondered if Julian would pick him up in the car some time tomorrow afternoon and they’d drive to Walgreens to stock up on enough candy to give them cavities. That’s what they had done the day after Halloween, at least.

As Danny sat up from his reclining position to sit on the edge beside Julian, he managed to twist his knee in the exact way that sent pain shooting up his leg like a rush of lightning. Even though it was all taped up with ivory-colored gauze tape, it still managed to offset and sting like hell. He sucked in air through his teeth and took his seat, but Julian was already worried about him.

Jules put a hand on the small of Danny’s back to stabilize him. His hand was warm and big and Danny could feel its warmth through the thin fabric of his Patriots equipment shirt. “Ouch,” Jules winced, as if he could feel his friend’s pain. “You gotta stop doing that, man. Seeing you hurt is hurting me.”

Danny shook his head at himself. The pain was fading away, but it still bothered him. “Yeah, yeah,” he agreed. “Believe me, it hurts me worse than it hurts you.” Danny waved him off, hoping Jules would just drop it. “Nothing you can do that the doctors have already tried for months.”

There was a few moments of silence when footsteps started to approach the door, like it was going to open, but then the footsteps faded away and the two men retained their privacy. Danny wasn’t looking at him, but it was clear in Julian’s voice that he was smiling. “Well, since today’s Valentine’s day… Maybe a kiss would make it better?”

A smile had spread across Danny’s lips before he was even able to process the offer in his head. “Julian, you’re a genius. You’re gonna put the PT’s out of business with these ideas of yours. Let’s give it a shot.”

They were both on the verge of laughing and it was a surprise to both of them when they actually did turn their bodies towards each other and lean in for the kiss. It was a mixture of surprise at themselves and at each other, and some trepidation as well. Jules propped himself up with an arm on the area of the seat so he could lean down, and Danny placed one hand on Jules’s thigh, and soon enough their lips were on each other, hesitant at first, then just relaxing, exploring, getting used to the new sensation and taste and learning quickly how much they enjoyed it.

They heard the footsteps approaching again but didn’t flinch until they heard the door being pushed open. Then they scrambled to move away from each other, almost breaking more parts of their bodies in the process.

Heart rates elevated, they were quiet as the examinations came to a close. Danny was still smiling to himself, and so was Julian. The nurse looked suspicious because the boys weren’t talking, but he didn’t say anything, only noticed that their temperatures had unusually higher readings than before.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your suggestions over the course of the season! Unfortunately all the slots are queued up and I'm not taking anymore requests.
> 
> You can still send something in, though - chances are others have requested the same pairing as you and I can add your request into the mix. Ask me [here on tumblr](http://subwaywolf.tumblr.com/ask) or over [here on twitter](https://twitter.com/subwaywolfy)!


End file.
